The Masks
by Spiritual Stone
Summary: They had all worn black masks when they'd first started their training. Slight AU. Well, more ignoring the Lost Season episode.


**So, when I was comapring the comic and tv versions of the TMNT, I thought, at first, why the colour code? You know, aside from making it easier to tell them apart, for the kids. I mean, it seemed to fit them too well, you know? And THEN I thought why all red? Was there just some convenient piece of cloth that Splinter cut up that just so happened to be red, for the masks? Cuz, you know, they kinda look like christmas trees. Red and green. Lol. **

**Anyway, speculative sort-of-turtle-tot fic. Enjoy! **

* * *

_**The Masks**_

They had all worn black masks when they'd first started their training.

Splinter had found a decently sized cloth, which he'd cut, stitched, and given to each one. There had been much adjusting and complaints involved, since they didn't understand the point of the whole business and it was irritating to stand still while their father tried to get the positions of the eyeholes correct. But still, in the end, they marvelled at how they all looked. How cool, how scary and capable they seemed.

They were five and they already felt grown up.

Splinter had then made them sit down in a row, to warn them of the world above and the dangers they may face in future. This was before they had gotten a TV, before the difference between them and the humans had properly registered in their minds. They figured it couldn't be that bad out there, could it?

Especially now that they had masks, and especially since Splinter was going to teach them how to kick people. _Properly_, too.

Splinter had been subtly training them since they'd learnt to string sentences together; sprints through the sewers with the promise of food at the end, building their strength, their endurance, their speed. Games of _Hide, Seek, and Attack!_ had been especially popular ever since Splinter had tacked a piece of candy on his person, on his shoulder, tail, anywhere just out of reach, teaching them the basics of invisibility and the beginnings of pick-pocketing (though that was an aspect of the lesson Splinter dropped quickly since that may have led them down a dishonourable path to thievery). _Daruma-san Tripped_, an old Japanese game Splinter had watched Master Yoshi and Mashimi and Tang Shen play as children was an ancient favourite with the family. First they'd learnt to be very, very still. Then they'd learnt to hide, each month with less objects to hide behind. Then, in the shadows.

Finally Splinter turned without warning, and once all his sons learnt to disappear, that was when he knew the fun times were over, and the training would start.

Lessons previously had been games, to teach them the basics, to give them a foundation of speed and silence and an enthusiasm to learn more. But with the masks, Splinter explained, these were _training sessions_, serious things that they needed to take stock of, for the survival of the family, of each other.

Donatello and Raphael had exchanged glances, shrugging. Leonardo had stared at Master Splinter, a strange sort of chill creeping in his shell, and Michelangelo had gotten distracted by a beetle crawling near where he sat.

Splinter had known that in front of him were four mountains that needed climbing, four impossibly large rivers that needed crossing, terrains that needed understanding, and castles that needed building. He hoped that the slopes would not be too steep, the rivers too raging, the terrains too wide, and most importantly, he hoped the foundations that he had placed there himself were strong enough to support all that he hoped to teach them.

And that he himself was a good enough teacher.

"Let us begin."

… … … … …

The black masks that framed those still innocent eyes had, in all honesty, been fairly meaningless. Splinter had placed them around his children's heads as a form of reminder that they were in training, that they needed to be serious, that in those three hours of rigorous exercise and learning new katas, they were ninja, not children. That he was their teacher, as well as their father.

That things were different.

A month, and they had the rhythm of the training. First, to enter the 'dojo', a square they'd partitioned off with nothing more than duct-tape, to bow to their teacher, and he to them, and to tie their masks over their heads and eyes.

Then the lesson. Stretches, katas, punches that never got repetitive because he kept switching the routines around, to keep them on their toes. Then he would either teach them something new, like a kick, or a block, or they would spar for a bit, their moves corrected, their muffled giggles silenced.

Then they would stretch again, and bow, and remove their masks, and then they returned to lessons that they were more familiar with; games of _Daruma-san_, wrestling on the mat, wheedling a promise to look for things and food from their father.

The black cloth was their uniform, their switch from children to ninjas. It would be another three months before the turtle-tots began to dislike them.

… … … … …

When they learnt things, it was because without it they would be dead.

They learnt how to read, because without that knowledge they didn't know what they were picking up from dumpsters and street-corners, and occasionally the stores; cans of food, or cans of poison? They learnt how to write, because without that knowledge they couldn't talk to each other when Master Splinter was meditating, or when they'd upset him and they wanted to stay quiet out of guilt. They wrote messages to each other to cheer themselves up in latter cases.

They learnt basic math because without that knowledge they couldn't have possibly kept themselves alive. They had twelve oranges to last them for a week; if, theoretically, each orange had eight segments in them, how many could they eat per day? And out of that, how many would be left for each turtle to eat? (How many, in turn, could the children eat before convincing themselves and their teacher that they were full so the rat should have the rest of their share? Because their father always had the least to eat, when obviously he was the biggest.)

Science was pursued out of necessity when Splinter figured out that electricity could really help with their lives. Heat, light, maybe even a tiny fridge to keep their food better stored. Raphael, on fixing their first generator, furthered his studies out of interest, and Donatello followed because he admired this brother's accomplishment and found he had a knack for it. They each found their places in grease and circuitry, respectively, and Leonardo and Michelangelo became the grunts in terms of carrying things and assisting their brothers in making their home more liveable. Splinter readily helped too, bringing them equipment, tools, whatever his sons thought necessary.

Their hovel became a home right before the worst winter they'd experienced hit them, leaving them shivering and cold even in mid-spring. From then on Michelangelo and Leonardo too brushed up on their knowledge of turtle-biology and insulation and the mundanely scientific, to better protect themselves.

Somehow, though, the black-masked training seemed nothing but a chore.

They were always tired afterwards, and most often than not _hungry_. Hunger was a constant companion, holding their hands and tugging them to the ground, kicking their guts on the worst days, tickling their stomachs almost constantly. Sometimes they got hurt, and they hated to hurt each other, bruises on arms and legs that they didn't like to look at, and worse, the look one got from the other when they did something _better_.

Leonardo was always the last to perfect something, Michelangelo the first. Raphael always seemed to hurt somebody somehow each lesson, and Donatello got frustrated when he couldn't do things he understood and could imagine in theory.

When they wore their black masks, the light in Splinter's eyes changed. They turned from warm glows to sharp flints, like a Bunsen burner's flame. They were beginning to fear their father, fear the change that these cloths had on his perception of them.

One day while Splinter was out looking for more food, Donatello punched Michelangelo because the little genius couldn't understand why such an _airhead_ could do something that he found so _difficult_ as easily as breathing, as laughing. Raphael had broken the fight up, snarling at them to stop it as Leonardo sat in his corner and stared blankly at his brothers, something like contempt twisting his heart. Today they'd been learning how to jump kick, and all he'd done was trip. Donnie thought this was hard? At least he hadn't _failed_.

"Stop it!" Raphie roared, shoving them both down onto the ground, making Mikey cry, hurting Donnie too.

He winced. He really hated hurting them, but he was the strongest. He couldn't help it. He should've, but he couldn't and that hurt him as well, and made him mad.

He glared at the black masks that dangled there, on the wall of the 'dojo', and he marched towards it and grabbed one and tried to tear it apart. Stupid masks and the stupid training was making his family fall apart and he wasn't going to let some stupid _piece of black cloth_ do that to him!

He was still only six, and Splinter had stitched them well. They didn't tear, and Raphael felt trapped, and there was a fissure between them all, now.

… … … … …

Splinter was seeing the problem too, and he had no idea how to fix it.

He meditated on it, troubled. Each child had their own gift, different, unique. The problem was that they were used to being exactly the same, sharing their room, their food, their very existence. Training was beginning to make them see differences in themselves that made them utterly at odds with each other, and Splinter saw the fissure between the brothers.

Soon, he had the feeling that there would be a fissure between himself and them, as they realized who exactly had instigated their division, intentionally or not.

… … … … …

"Michelangelo!"

The little turtle flinched at the tone before sheepishly clasping his hands behind his shell, circling a toe against the floor. "Yes, father…?"

"You are distracting your brothers, my son."

The three of them glared at Mikey, who'd parroted about being awesome and a total ninja as soon as he'd done one flying kick right _once_. He'd been becoming increasingly cocky, a trait Splinter knew was only a part of his infectiously joyous nature, but it was destroying his other sons' happiness chip by chip.

"Well, it's just, I…"

"Just because you are an awesome and total ninja," the three others giggled behind his back as Michelangelo's cheeks grew dark with a blush. Splinter prided himself in making things his sons say seem ridiculous. "This does not mean that you are excused from more practice. If you are so confident in your abilities, perhaps you would like to demonstrate for your brothers."

The little one gulped, knowing that the one time had probably been a fluke. But he could not escape Splinter's glare, so he tried. And tried. Splinter corrected him three times before he sent the rambunctious one to a corner, telling him to continue practicing till he got it right five times in a row.

The others had sheepishly pleased grins on their faces when he turned on them.

"Leonardo. Now it is your turn."

The turtle gulped, a lighter shade of green mottling his face under the black mask. Splinter waited patiently as he stood, licking his lips, furtively watching the other two brothers staring at him dubiously. They all knew Leonardo was the least adept at training; was this another ritual humiliation?

"Leonardo, relax your shoulders. You are too tense. Spread your feet apart, yes, like that, not too much. You need not be perfect, remember, this is still new. You are allowed to make a mistake, as are all of you. Now try. That is all I ask. Just _try_." Leonardo fidgeted, and Splinter smiled. "And relax."

He took a deep breath, and _kicked_.

The remaining turtles sitting down had awe on their faces. "That looked better than _Mikey's_!"

Leonardo looked just as shocked and awed. He smiled widely at Donatello, who'd praised him. "…Really?"

"Let me try!" Donatello sprung up, taking position next to Leonardo. "Show me how you did it!"

"Well, I…" he glanced at Splinter, who nodded approval, and together the two of them began doing the kicks together, and some previous katas too.

Finally turning on Raphael, who seemed borderline peevish as being the last one left, stood up and sighed, preparing his own kicking demonstration.

"Raphael," Splinter soothed, making him look confused, "Your kicks are well formed. I believe practice on a more physical opponent would be appropriate."

He flinched, glancing at the bruises on Leo's left leg and Donnie's left wrist. There was also a mark on Mikey's left ankle. His kicks, needless to say, hurt.

"I meant myself, Raphael."

That made him shake in terror. "But father,"

"Take my hand, Raphael. Hold it tightly." The turtle eyed the grey-furred hand warily before grasping it firmly. Splinter's smile was indulging. "Tighter."

Raphael obeyed, nervously eyeing his father. The smile didn't waver, and still the rat went, "_Tighter_."

It quickly became a game for him. His grip shook with his effort, he jumped and jumped and used both hands, trying to strangle the life out of Master Splinter's hand, but still he smiled unwaveringly, challengingly, saying nothing except, "_Tighter_."

Raphael was exhausted after two minutes.

"See? You may be a hard match for your brothers right now, but they will catch up with you. Till then, I would be honoured to be your sparring partner, my son."

Raphael kicked like he'd never kicked before, a grin of triumph plastered all over his face.

When the four brothers met and bowed, as was asked to do one last final kick before handing in their black masks, it was synchronized, capable, perfect.

They congratulated each other loudly and their bandannas left their faces like fireworks.

… … … … …

"My sons. I must go procure some medicine for us all. Is there anything that you need from the surface?"

The four of them looked at each other, and shook their heads, or shrugged, or grunted or made hand gestures implying the negative.

Splinter nodded before wearing a trench-coat and hat and gloves, despite the heat of the summer, and then added almost like an after-thought, "Your training has gone well, my sons. I am… very proud of you all. I will see if I can find chocolate. A whole bar, perhaps, to share amongst the four of you. Though I cannot make any promises."

The delight on their features was marred with worry. "Are you sure, father?"

"Yes, you all have done well. I shall be back before dinner. If you would check the fridge and make sure there is enough space for food, it would be most helpful."

With that, Splinter left, and the brothers stared at each other, confused. Of course there was enough space in there; all that was in it was a dead roach. But they wandered over there anyway, just to make sure. They never knew, that roach might look appetizing if they squinted at it right…

The fridge was filled with toys.

They stared, awed, amazed, astounded. There were crayons and plastic dinosaurs and race-cars and model planes and books about Japan and bikes and cartoons and there were board-games too and it didn't matter that half the things were broken or chipped or missing pieces, there was glue and tape and paper to fix them with, and there was enough for them all, in fact they could pick and choose. _They could pick and choose_.

Mikey reached over with a shout, and then flinched, and slowly asked, "Can I have the crayons?"

His brothers looked at him. He squirmed, and added, "Just for myself? I… just mine? You know?"

"Only if I can have all your dinosaurs," Donnie said firmly, "Okay?"

"You can have _my_ dinosaurs if I can take the bikes," Raphael was already grabbing and picking through the smaller toys, tossing aside the cars in search of motorcycles. "And I want the book on engines."

"Bags the books!" Leo crowed, laughing as he hoarded them against his plastron.

"No fair! I want to read too!"

"Even the travel guides?" Leo countered flatly, and Donnie frowned.

"I meant the chemistry one."

"Dude, you're the only one who'd read that for _fun_," Mikey teased, peering at Leo's hoard. "Hey, is that a comic book?"

"You can read after me." Leo almost growled, and since Mikey had his crayons, he shrugged. He could wait.

It was the first time that they didn't have to share, that they could claim something as their own, and nobody else's. Splinter listened to them around the corner, and sighing in relief at his gamble, he hurried to the surface. He never would have forgiven himself if any of them started fighting over a single toy, and finding such individual things had taken far too much time for results anything below satisfactory.

He snuck out of the sewers, and went for food.

… … … … …

They'd been training for over six months, now, and Splinter had finally figured out a system.

He would teach a new kata, and would have them practice together. Almost invariably, Michelangelo mastered it first, but usually his parroting self-praise was silenced for Splinter by Raphael, who was beginning to feel less inhibited by his superior strength. They would then separate; Raphael to work with Leonardo or Donatello or Splinter, Michelangelo with Donatello or Leonardo, Leonardo with Splinter or Raphael or Donatello. Donatello was always happy to work with who was left; he was content with being led, resigned to being a slow learner in all aspects physical, if only because he knew weaknesses like the back of his hand.

Knowledge in anatomy was an _excellent_ advantage.

Once done for the day, they showed him in unison their accomplishment, and they bowed, took off their masks, and went to play with either each other or themselves. Leonardo invariably stayed behind, to practice further, always saying he needed to catch up to his brothers. Splinter had once told him that he was in fact ahead now, from so much practice, and wouldn't he want to play a little more? He'd gotten such a confused and incredulous look Splinter had sighed and said never mind.

Their budding independence from each other was something Splinter both feared and took pride in. He just hoped that they would find balance, maintain their teamwork, protect each other from the world above…

Splinter frowned. He watched them wear their black masks over their eyes, and he saw how, for the lack of a better word how… _muted_ they were.

Raphael was usually loud, a different kind of loud from Michelangelo, but when he struck his _kya_s were not as impassioned as he usually was. Donatello was striking too high, copying Leonardo's style (his eyes seeing enemies bigger than he was) and Michelangelo was, for the lack of a better word, bored.

They were more like themselves when they separated, teaching each other and individually gaining his advice, and they moved like a dream when they went back over the week's series of punches.

So, it was the first half og the lesson that, _dampened_ his students. He wondered what exactly it was.

They bowed, took off their masks, hung them up, and then dispersed. Leonardo asked him for extra lessons, and he obliged, wondering why he had done so _after_ the ceremonial dismissal.

He stared at the masks for a moment, before coming to a decision.

… … … … …

"My sons, Please, come and sit with me."

He was in the dojo square, so they did so once they were wearing their bandanas, all black, sitting the same way, quiet as ninjas. They were getting the hang of this, after nearly a year of training.

In front of Splinter was a hat. One of those silk hats that people drew bunnies out of.

He wore it, confusing them completely.

"My sons, I have an assignment for you."

They blinked, and looked at each other a little warily.

"I would like you to try and take this hat from me. You may use any means necessary."

They were told to stand, to bow, and they surged for him. Ah, he could really see it now, how they forced the issue of one and togetherness, doing the exact same thing in the hopes of pleasing him.

If only they knew it wasn't about being pleased, it was about _protection_, but that was a difference they would have to learn later in life.

"Enough, my sons, stop." They obeyed uncertainly, lining up, bowing. Did he really inspire such fear in these children? He tried softening his tone, but frustration at himself slipped through. How to explain this? "My sons, when… when Pirates attack another ship. Do all the mates on board do the same thing?"

They stared at him as if their reality had been shifted to the side, disorienting them. Splinter had never felt so… silly.

"Well…" Michelangelo hmmed, tapping his chin, "There's the captain and the second mate, and… I dunno, the guy at the crow's nest?"

"Gunmen, on the sides," murmured Leonardo, perhaps beginning to catch on.

"Guys with swords," Raphael grinned. "Swinging across to kick some shell."

"Basically… no." Donatello's eyes rounded in understanding. "They all do something different accomplish the same goal."

"And with that in mind," Splinter added, doffing his hat at them, "I shall give you the same assignment."

They huddled in a circle, hissing and talking, until after a solid five minutes of discussing childish strategy, they lynched him.

Of course, Splinter let them win, once they looked like they were having the time of their lives. Donatello concentrated on his legs, Raphael and Leonardo attacked his torso, and it was Michelangelo that aimed for the hat. Splinter gave them a merry chase for fifteen exhausting minutes, before he 'tripped' over his son's sweeping kick, 'pushed' by two turtles' shoves, 'surprised' by the final boy's victorious crow as the hat was swiped off of his head.

Splinter laughed and admitted defeat as they congratulated each other, their hat a trophy of triumph.

It was a while till they calmed down and sat down again.

"I have… something for you all, if you would give me the hat briefly back, Michelangelo."

The turtle gave it back with a pout. Raphael ribbed him to stop it.

He placed four pieces of paper into it, shook it, and told the little ones to place their hands in, to take a slip without looking. They found numbers on them, and he told them that that was their order of receiving things, since he wanted to say something with each one.

"My sons, please take off your masks."

They did so, looking startled and a little pleased if not confused.

"I gave each of you the same black for two reasons. First, the cloth was big enough to make four. Second, I thought the same colour would help bridge you together in training, but it has occurred to me that this reasoning was flawed. You are all individual. You have your own strengths, your own interests and your own shortcomings. You are pieces of a puzzle, all different, yet meshing together perfectly as brothers. So, Donatello, you who drew number one, I wish to present to you this."

From his robe Splinter pulled out a purple cloth, and the turtle's jaw dropped.

"Purple is one of the rarer colours of nature. In herbs purple is an indication of medicine. In food it often signifies mildness which befits your nature in comparison to your brothers. You may worry that you are not as strong, or adept as your fellows, but know that you have your talent with science, a rare gift indeed. Cherish and work your mind, Donatello. I only hope that this will remind you to work your body just as often."

"Uh, I-uh, thank you, father." He stuttered, clearly embarrassed, as he accepted the new bandanna in his tiny hands.

Splinter nodded, and turned on Raphael, who'd taken the slip with the number two on it. "Raphael. You are a strong boy, passionate, unrelenting. Fine qualities for a warrior. I beg you not to fear your own strength, and to embrace your own heart for there is good there, burning bright. I wish to present to you this red mask, for your flames that sing in you, to remind you that fire burns best moderately. Never too low, never too high."

Raphael nodded, biting his lip tightly as he received his mask with his trembling hands.

"Michelangelo, you remind me of the sunflowers that my master loved so much. Like them you will grow, relentlessly tall and bright and strong. You have the natural ability to thrive, and for that there is much to be thankful for. However, as much as I hate to bridle you and your energy my son, I bid you be cautious; ninja are creatures of silence and you are anything but."

He looked down, not knowing where this was going, and Splinter smiled at his nervous son.

"So you will forgive me and my hypocrisy for giving you an orange mask. You are bright, and energetic; no other colour would suit you as this."

Michelangelo beamed at him as he held the cloth against his plastron.

"Finally, Leonardo, my son. You are water. You flow forward in all directions but back. You are relentless, flexible, changeable yet constant. You may take the long path, with many winding turns but you will get there. In each training session no matter what struggled you faced you came to the conclusion, and for that nobody in this world will dare to fault you. I present to you this blue mask, and a word: _patience_."

Leonardo bowed as he received his mask, and they all wore it, bowed, and dismissed themselves. They practiced with more freedom, before Splinter called them back, and dismissed them to play.

Leonardo asked for extra lessons, and he did so with the blue cloth wrapped over his face.

… … … … …

"Uh, guys?" Angel frowned dubiously as all four turtles dropped into a haze of memories. "Was it a weird question?"

"Nah," Mikey replied with a growing smile, "Not weird."

"Oh. Well still doesn't tell me why you wear them."

"We didn't wear them all the time as kids," Donatello conceded as he fixed her age-old tamagochi, "But we sort of liked them too much to take off, after a bit."

"It's kinda got to the point where we feel naked with'em, huh." Raphael added, twiddling the ends of his own. "But that just could be me."

"I agree with you," Leo grinned, stroking the cloth between his eyes. "It's who we are."

"As ninjas?"

The brothers smiled at each other. "Yes," Leonardo replied, "And no."

* * *

**So yeeeeeaaah, that's me. Please check out _The Bourne Complex _if you enjoyed this, (yes, I know, mindless shameless self-promotion) it needs love and attention and ideas. :)**

**Thank you for coming all this way, and I hope you review too. Have a nice day!**


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